


Black Irises

by mrsandrewscottx



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Beyonce reference, Boston, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, First Time, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Underage Smoking, Violence, car stuff, first time smut, moriarty is rlly cute in this tho, pls don't judge me, this is embarrassing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10298918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsandrewscottx/pseuds/mrsandrewscottx
Summary: Continuing with a smirk, “Baby, me and you, we could rule the world.”“Don’t I know it.” Iris purred back.





	1. Chapter 1

It was a murky day on the Boston Bay. The city seemed still, eerie. As if it were the calm before a catastrophic storm.

Jim Moriarty steps off the private jet, Seb trailing behind as the napoleon of crime is greeted by the infamous Irish Mob boss, Pat O’Malley.

“Jimmy, boy. How great it is to put a face to the terrifying tales.” He brings the young man of only nineteen in a friendly embrace. 

“The pleasure is all mine, sir. I happen to have a very high regard for you and your work.” Jim replies in a thick Irish accent almost sheepishly, quite out of character.

Afterall, he is meeting the most powerful man on the east coast of the country, whose empire threatens to exceed its state boundaries everyday. Pat has kept his family business in very effective shape for about thirty years. It has been the O’Malley family’s discretion which has made it the most untouched and powerful organization of it’s kind in the US.

Jim is quite the fan, and was absolutely ecstatic at receiving the invitation to the states by his idol. At this time, Jim’s network has grown at an incredible rate across Europe, and he has proven himself to be a very promising and powerful man in the industry.

Pat grumbles with laughter, “A boy after my own heart. Just this way.” he remarks as he leads the teenager towards the line of armed men and black town cars, along with a police escort.

Jim can’t help but let out a low whistle at the man’s influence.

Pat chuckles as he begins introductions. He has arranged to tour the prodigious kid around his city personally, and the two get along splendidly.

The black town car pulls him slowly to an impressive dark gray Victorian townhouse, complete with a turret, as the tour reaches it’s end. The building towers over the block, completely unique in it’s setting. There is something hauntingly beautiful about it, but Jim can’t place it.

“This is our stop.” Pat informs his guest, who apparently will be staying the night.

“Oh sir, I couldn’t possibly overstay my welcome, I’ll just ring up a hotel room if that’s alright with you.” Jim replies, feeling honored but afraid of his capability to accidentally insult the man while staying in his house. The man does have a reputation for being as interchangeable as Jim himself, and would rather stay on the good side of his host.

“Nonsense boy. This is how we treat our own.” Pat flashes him a smile, pulling out into the murky atmosphere of Boston’s elite neighborhood.  
Pat O’Malley is a man of great taste, and a notoriously great temper. He merges these two with rugged looks complete with silver hair and the noticeably thick Boston accent. But he prides himself on his manners when he applies them, and personally considers himself a gentleman, though others would say he is the least from it. He is, afterall, consolidating a business deal with impressionable Jim, and he has taken it upon himself to secure the deal with his hospitality. He likes Jim.

“Pat, you’re too kind.” Jim plays into his host’s narcissism, but takes up the offer, slightly fearing for the consequences that refusing would entail. Jim is still building up his standing in the criminal world, and in time he will model himself on Pat. While still being charismatically himself.

Pat enters his family estate first, leading the way for Jim to join. They pass the dark foyer filled with old photos of the family, most filled with scenes at a pub. They were Irish Americans, after all. Jim smiled to himself, feeling as if he could surely make himself at home here. There were more recent photographs hanging on the ancient wall, of Pat’s current family. They showed a scene on the Revere Beach, somewhere in the late nineties with happy smiling faces of the mob boss’s three children and gorgeous wife. 

On the ceilings there hung elaborate chandeliers that seemed far older than the house. The elegant house itself was dusted with cobwebs and what Jim swore were echoing whispers, as if it was an abandoned asylum.  
Pat caught him looking at the light fixtures with awe and chuckled.  
“Paul Revere.” He answers.  
“Hmm?” Jim replied absentmindedly,  
“You’ve heard the name before, surely?” He inquires.  
“Ah, yes the Revolutionary hero who saved you all from those nasty British.” Jim responds somewhat uninterestedly.  
Pat sighs, visibly disappointed in Jim’s grasp on American history. But he is certain what he has to say next will awe him.  
“He was the craftsman behind those chandeliers. Gave ‘em to my twenty-something’ times great-grandfather.” He reveals. “Made the gold dome of the state's building aswell, he did.”  
Now Jim is thoroughly impressed. He lets out his second low whistle of the day, feeding into Pat’s ego.  
“So I’ve had my boys collect your luggage and bring it here, along with setting up your boys with a hotel room. Now, I have to consult with my managers for only a second, so you can show yourself to your room. It’s just up those rickety stairs, on the right hall, the last door to your left.”

Jim thanks him for his hospitality again, as he makes his way up the winding staircase alone.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

His footsteps make creaks upon the wooden floor, and he is greeted an entirely new atmosphere upstairs.

This floor is warm, inviting. The hall is painted a beautiful burgundy, and the heat radiating from the fireplaces inside each bedroom breathes life into the house.

On this hall is the turret, a tower esque feature unique to Victorian homes. Feeling curious, he decides he would like to investigate the home of his host. And Jim is not one to deny himself what he wants.

He quietly creaks open the violet door, revealing a lavish bedroom complete with a four poster bed and numerous paintings. Some of the tenant’s own work, he notes, considering the set up canvas and dirty paintbrushes. The work is exquisite. 

Inviting himself to explore, he enters as silently as a ghost to the furthest corner of the rather large room.

He notices a record player complete with an impressive array of records from artists current and old. Brushing his forefinger among the spines of the books arranged neatly beside the desk, he notes the owner’s fine taste. 

Jim gets a sudden whiff of nicotine and jerks his head around. 

There is the figure of a girl, not older than he, resting on the open window frame as she puffs the cigarette.

Oblivious to his presence, she is absorbed in a book he can’t make out the title of. One of her shapely legs hangs nonchalantly out the window, while the other is bent beautifully to keep her stance.

He finds himself frozen in her presence.  
She is wearing what can only be pajamas, as they are a faded but tight tee that all but reveals her stunning figure, with loose cotton shorts. Her hair falls upon her shoulders with what can only be described as obvious elegance.

Emboldened by curiosity, he takes a step towards her, making sure to proceed with his signature swagger.

She turns her head instinctively towards the movement, and her stormy eyes widen in fear to find the stranger in a suit making his way towards her.

“Who are you?” She asks with a sliver of fear.

He is taken aback by the seductive strain of her voice. Of course, this is not what she intended to affront him with, but is just her normal voice inquiring to his identity.

“I’m Jim. I’m a guest of your Dad’s.” He answers, slowly making his way to her spot on the window with both hands inside his expensive suit.

Taken aback by the sexy Irish accent of the suited stranger, she shifts slightly in her position and places the book in her lap.

Not unnoticed by him, he slides a wolfish smile her way, eyes gleaming with danger.

She quickly regains her composure, and takes a deliberately long puff from her cigarette before replying, “I’ll take it he did not invite you into his only daughter’s bedroom.”

He smirks, relishing in her wit. “May I get your name?” He inquires, almost gentlemanly.

She slides her arm out in his direction, saying “Iris O’Malley.”

He takes her hand in his, and kneels down to kiss it, without leaving her eyes.

At last he stands up, leaning against the opposite wall nearest the window.

He examines her in depth now, taking in the curve of her body and the shapes beneath her shirt. The richness of her dark brown hair reaches just below her shoulders, and is effortlessly tousled. Her face is splattered with freckles, trailing down to her arms. He wonders where else they go.

Taking one last inhale from her cigarette before simply dropping it into the alley below, she inquires, “Why did you do that?”

“Do what, love?” He responds hungrily.

“Kneel.” She stares into those dark, dark eyes. They seem to hide a wildness within him, and they gleam like none she has ever seen. She surveys him, taking in his compact and toned frame, and perfectly tailored suit. He has a body reminiscent of an Italian sports car, she muses, grateful humans cannot read minds. Suddenly she feels extremely insecure under the intensity of his gaze, given her choice of clothing for this unexpected encounter. This is not a feeling she is used to, and hides it well under her cool exterior.

He is surprised to find her unafraid of him. Not a reaction he is used to getting from girls at his relatively inexperienced age of nineteen, and he appreciates the change brought by her boldness.

“That’s what you do to royalty.” He answers simply, shrugging off her question. 

She smiles like a schoolgirl at this comment and bows her head to hide the slight blush she gave into. Who even is this guy?

“Jim, is it? And are you in the same business as my dear Dad?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m here to do business with your father. I’m quite a fan of his.” He lets his eyes scope her out while his tongue grazes his lips unconsciously before adding “..work.”

She rolls her eyes at this, secretly excited by the compliment. 

She stretches, moves her legs to make room on the windowsill and offers him a seat with a nod of her head and a crack of her smile.

Eyeing her with intrigue Jim suddenly remembers where he is and who he’s dealing with. This is not just some dumb Dublin bird, this is the only daughter and presumably heir of the Western Hemisphere’s most powerful crime lord. Shit. 

“No thanks doll, I better get ready for dinner.” He resolves fairly quickly. God, she was tempting.

“So you’re staying for dinner? That’ll be nice.” Iris retreats flawlessly back to formality, noting his sudden change of interest. He seemed to squirm on spot, and she wondered what had put him off. Did she forget to put on deodorant or something?

“It was ..lovely to meet you.” He takes in those beautifully tragic eyes once more before heading off into the direction of his room.

“You as well,” She calls after him as he closes the door behind him. 

Christ. Well, that was a whirlwind. Her seventeen-year-old self took in the exchange with increasing interest every time she thought of those haunting eyes he had. 

That definitely had chemistry. In fact, the two had electricity. As soon as their eyes met she felt the room charged with it, likening it to the atmosphere before a thunderstorm breaks. She had never felt anything of that nature before in her life, and she needed to find out more about the shadowy figure that was the young Irishman.

Wait, he’ll be staying for dinner! Her heart began to race at a sickening pace. Iris wasn’t one for acting like an excited little school girl but she couldn’t help it. He brought out something animalistic in her, a craving she had never felt before and she couldn’t decide if she loved it or hated it, so she decided on both.

She took it upon herself to doll herself up for whatever dinner plans her father had set up, primping herself with her Yves Saint Laurent perfume and a certain black satin babydoll dress guaranteed to spark the Irishman's attention but conservative enough that her Irish Catholic father wouldn’t burn it to the stake.

She took a final look at herself in the mirror as she applied her signature red lip. At seventeen she already had a signature color, that’s how seriously she took her image. These two really were a match. Not made in heaven, but hell itself.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim makes his way to the dark expansive guest room reserved for his stay.

He can’t get the image of her out of his head. Her pose on the windowsill then and there had brought him to mind an old snippet of his favorite author’s work, “She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”  
And she was, he could tell. She had a certain danger to her, the kind that was poetic and exciting to Jim. He just couldn’t shake it.

This is bad. He came here to do business, to solidate his standing overseas, she was not a part of the plan. He couldn’t afford to get on the wrong side of Pat O’Malley. Few people lived to survive it. Still, Pat seemed to like him, right? Maybe he wouldn’t mind if he.. 

“No. Stop it.” He told himself, that is not happening. Perhaps, she is far too fine not to be taken by some incredulous schoolboy. She deserved someone like himself. What was he saying? He barely knew her anyway, they exchanged what, 10 words? 

He decided then and there not to get involved. He couldn’t afford distractions, this trip could be his big break, and he wasn’t gonna let his lust get in the way of his success. He decided to take a quick shower before dinner in the renovated marble bathroom attached to the room. 

Just as he was getting suited up, there was a knock on the heavy wooden door.

“What is it?” He asked in an annoyed tone of childish impatience. He checked himself, he would have to employ his manners for this was not his turf. Manners were not something Jim Moriarty was used to, hence he would have to be careful.

“Jim?” A familiar voice inquired. “They’ve got a car downstairs to take us to dinner.” Jim welcomed the familiarity of Sebastian Moran’s voice in the spookiness of the old house.

The trusty assassin cracks open the door to Jim’s suite, eyeing the grandeur with obvious envy. 

Jim was lacing up his sneakers, a trademark of his to wear sneakers with suits at this age, before heading down the stairs to the black town car with his bodyguard and best friend.

The boys soon found themselves being led down into the back room of a very tasteful restaurant. Jim had seen Mafia movies, and he could tell you how he looooved them. Yet he had to admit he was a bit nervous at this point, being ushered away and into the dark.   
But thankfully this was only his heightened paranoia, and soon he heard the shouts and cackles of happy men in the room he was brought to.

He made his entrance into a scene of classic criminal consult, set in the pretense of a friendly family dinner. After all, the O’Malley empire did rely on the loyalty of its members.

He takes his seat as gracious guest, and takes mental inventory of the room. Sebastian standing against the wall, along with the other bodyguards.   
He found his eyes searching on their own accord for her. She wasn’t there.  
Instead he found a curly headed cutie of about twelve years of age sat beside him. He struck up a conversation and discovered him to be Owen O’Malley, Iris’s little brother. 

“Oh yeah?” Jim expertly glides his motives into the flow of the conversation. “And what’s your sister like?”

To this, Owen beams, going on to tell the stranger with the funny accent how close the two are and the numerous escapades he and his sister had been on.

Jim found himself enthralled with the twelve year old’s stories, which placed him in a situation he never dreamed himself. 

Then after about roughly ten minutes, he noticed a detail he must have missed upon coming into the room. There was an empty chair almost directly across from him and next to Pat. 

He turns to Owen, mouth forming a question, when his eyes magnetically are pulled to the opening of the doors. 

Commanding all eyes in a tiny satin babydoll, Iris O’Malley arrives fashionably late to her father’s dinner party.

She walks in with such a stride it is impossible to ignore. Glowing from head to toe with cold confidence and a disarming smile, she is greeted by her father and shown to the empty chair.

Jim is frozen once again by her appearance, and is completely wowed by the what seems is the girl’s effortless elegance.

Then he is brought down to earth by the gruff mention of his name by none other than his host himself.

“Jim Moriarty’s our guest tonight, sweetheart. Flew in all the way from Ireland today and he’ll be staying for a week or so.”

Her glance slid to his, her mouth forming a polite smile that seemed to hide something darker.

“Welcome Mr. Moriarty. I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.” He is caught off guard yet again by the seductive charm of her voice, perhaps fully intended this time.

“I’ve fallen in love with this city. Your father could not have been more kind as to let me stay.” He ends with a tip of his wine glass to Pat’s direction, who appreciates his courtesy. This kid is growing on me, he thinks to himself.

Content in his current composure, he dares to address Iris again with, “And please, call me Jim.” 

Damn. That was not his best line.

She appeared humored, raising her glass to his, a playful smile hinting at her lips.

He’s so cute, all flustered like that. She loved looking into those eyes, there was something so exciting behind the masked darkness, and she was intent on figuring it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just setting the scene with these first two chapters, the nest chapter is the one i'm proudest of :)


	3. Chapter 3

When dinner was halfway over and Jim was somewhat drunk and halfheartedly engaging his host’s guests laughs and conversations, he still couldn’t help but steal glances at Iris and her radiance. He couldn’t help but appreciate the beautifully tragic way she laughed, and there was a danger dancing behind those cloudy eyes of hers he couldn’t quite figure out.

Iris certainly noticed the irishman’s shy glances at her and precipitated them with caution, knowing the danger of the situation of hand. She had always been Daddy’s little girl, and her last relationship hadn’t.. Well it was a killer, how bout we keep it at that. And Jim was cute. Hell, he was sexy. She had never been with a guy so intoxicating as him, the man’s charm practically oozed out his pores. Iris was no idiot though, and could tell there was something off about him, and maybe this was what drew her to him. Because there was certainly something off about her.  
She decided to take the opportunity of her father’s uncharacteristic drunkenness to have a chat with Jim.

Iris stood making determined eye contact with Jim which he took as an incentive to rise with her. He grinned down at Owen before goodnaturedly patting his head in goodbye. Jim watched her glide in such an unimposing fashion the devil himself couldn’t have known her intentions of wrongdoings. He cast an uneasy glance at her father, who was having far too much fun rehashing the beheading of a ‘rat’ before trailing after her.

He found her on the sidewalk, standing before him. She met his eyes with a dangerous smile before taking his hand in hers and leading them gently into the velvet dark of the night. 

“So what’s your story?” She asks him, beginning to get a little unsure of this.

“Hon, it’s a tragedy.” Jim replies, smiling down at the girl. He stiffens at the question however, hoping she doesn’t notice.

“Really?” She inquires, her interest peaked. “Well, would you prefer I told you mine first?”

“Whatever you want is fine with me pet,” He basically purrs, silently grateful of the offer. “But do you mind enlightening me as to where we’re headed?” 

“You’ll see.” She sing-songs, enticing Jim for the night ahead of him before continuing. “Well, I’m the daughter of the most dangerous man in the country, as you might’ve guessed. I grew up in Waltham, a tiny burrow of Boston, in a rather shabby house. You see, at that time the family business wasn’t booming. It was left in my uncapable uncle’s hands which lead to him getting killed and my dad taking over. I think my dad was the one who killed him. But anyway, we moved to Boston when I was three. It was then when my mom started to go mental. She would cry or laugh hysterically for days on end. Swear to god it was the scariest thing, coming home after school to that. Dad didn’t know what to do, the stress just ate her up. Well in a couple of years the turf wars began, and my dad meant business. He always had the dream to turn the mob back into what it was when it was founded, all-encompassing and powerful.” It was here that she paused and Jim took the moment to look down at her. Her eyes were mingled with grief and psychotic glee at her rehashing of her past; equally disgusted by her upbringing and excited by her malicious inheritance of an empire, she was a beautiful contradiction.

“That’s what it is now, but it came at a price. I was eight, walking home with my brothers from school when a big van pulled up just as we made our stoop. I remember Brody, that’s my older brother, yelling at me to go inside. But I stayed, frozen at the scene that unfolded in front of my front door. What sounded like six hundred bullets sprayed open the body of him, he was only ten. I had blood in my ears, in my hair and in my heart. I wanted those murderers to pay.” This time her eyes were aglow in what only can be described as hellish rage. Jim was getting increasingly turned on. “Daddy killed them of course, but nothing was the same. Mom got a lot worse. She started talking to things that weren’t there, she would scream at Owen because she wouldn't recognize him and he would cry endlessly. It sucked. Finally we had her admitted, but Owen never was the same. He’s very vulnerable and scared, but he took to church very well. He wants to be a priest.” She paused for a third time, a small smile spread across her face in a moment of peace. This woman was incredible, Jim thought.

At last they had reached their destination. “Oh goody, we’re here!” Iris squealed, practically skipping to the entrance. Jim looked around, they had landed at an ancient cemetery. 

“Could you get anymore cliche?” He groaned teasingly as he joined her skillfully unlocking the towering gates. 

“I love this place,” She said breathlessly. Spookly lit by streetlights and the headlights of late-night taxis, Granary Burying Ground held endless treasures for Iris. “I used to sneak out here at night when I was a kid and try to talk to Sam Adams.” She reveals to Jim, leading him among the shadowy graves, before fixing herself and him a seat on the Franklin mausoleum. 

Jim was completely thrown at this predicament, but was enthusiastically enjoying the ride that was this girl’s mind.

He placed himself ever so cooly amongst the large Oak tree opposite her, now laying down on the cool marble, her pale skin illuminated by the dim moonlight. He pulls out a cigarette and begins to light it, as she props herself up to examine him.

Iris takes in the figure of the boy in front of her, his lighter catching the flames as they dance in those black irises of his. He stands so still, and she likens him to a cat’s calm before devouring a mouse. There was something in the back of her throat that warnered her of him, but she dutifully swallowed the fear to reminded him who he was dealing with.

“So you’re a virgin I take it?” She says as if describing the weather or inquiring to his favorite baseball team.

Jim begins to choke on his recently lit cigarette, coughing heavily before practically growling, “And what gives you that impression?”

Iris sighs, clearly disappointed in the fragility of another male ego. How predictable. Pulling herself up slowly to face him, she answers the question with, “Well, I’ll take that as a yes, given your haughty reaction, how could I tell?” She chuckles before giving away, “You are just so stiff, and the vibe you give off is chock full of sexual tension.”

And with this she takes out a cigarette of her own, places it between her lips and lights it with his own. She eyes him carefully before deciding on her next move. “Please don’t be embarrassed. There’s really nothing to it, I’ve got plenty of friends who still haven’t got their v-cards swiped.”

And with this, Jim throws his cigarette to the ground without bothering to step on it and takes a couple steps toward her already close figure. He places his dark eyes into her almost gray ones, and stares intently as she returns the favor. Now this was getting somewhere, she thought to herself. Iris couldn't stand men underestimating her and it happened far too often for her likening. Her father would’ve told her that this was an advantage to exploit the opposite sex, but she much rather liked a fair game. And it wasn’t often that boys found her intriguing as Jim did even after she put them in their place.

“So you’re not a virgin yourself? Interesting.” He coos dangerously into her ear, eyes never leaving her own. 

“Well it wasn’t just some incredulous schoolboy who had the honor. Care to take a guess?” She entices him with the offer to deduce her as she paces back without leaving his eyes, before turning round and strolling down the pathway simply by memory as it was far too dark to see.

Jim’s pulse begins to race as he dutifully follows her, the sparks from her cigarette lighting his way. Methodically he takes her in for what must be the thousandth time, yet each time she grows more enticing. After a while he answers with such a melodious Irish edge that she finds unnerving yet exciting. “It was a teacher. And he didn’t instigate it, obviously.” 

To this, Iris smirks at the ground, clearly impressed. “Correct. But can you guess what subject?” She counters, now beneath the light of a nearby streetlamp she turns to face him.

Jim takes in her mischievous features that show a clear danger lurking beneath those stormy eyes. “Math.”

She breaks into a wide grin at this, and her eyes twinkle while clapping her hands together for his success.

He leans into her, desperate to solve the enigma that she is, while nuzzled in the curve of her neck she gingerly places her hand on his, before he takes the chance to whisper, “Look like th' innocent flower, but be the serpent under ’t.”

She turns to look at him, a smile shyly tugging at the corner of her perfectly shaped red lips while she says, “Lady Macbeth.”

“She could’ve said that about you, Doll.” He raises his crooked brows at her with a crack of a smile.

Returning the action, she raises hers quizzically yet playfully before responding, “Never took you as a Shakespeare guy.” She takes the opportunity to brush her thumb against the sharpness of his jaw, leaving an electric current pulsing through him in her touch.

“There’s more of me to see then.” He toys with her, eyes gleaming dangerously.

With this, she pulls him in, their lips crashing together in perfect chaotic rhythm. He reciprocates the action with desperate need, and their lips meet in charged attraction. With his obvious appreciation at the gesture, Iris smiles into the kiss, thoroughly aware of the humanity of the powerful man she is kissing. She pulls away, teasingly so to breathe “I have school tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope u enjoyed this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it! i'm trying really hard to keep Jim in character, but this is also my take on a younger Jim so. please leave me feedback!! thx cuties


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut smut smut and violence ahead! Jim loses his virginity ayyy

She bites down on her lip in time to see Jim’s own stained red lips hungry for more. 

And with that, she takes his clammy hand in hers and expertly leads them down the cobblestone streets back to her townhouse.

They jest each other and let out shrieks of glee and laughter along the way, surely waking up neighbors until they silently creep up the stairs to their rooms at about one am.

Neither party sleeps that night, plagued by lovesick visions of another.

In a few days, Pat O’Malley unprecedentedly gets a call into Chicago on urgent business and chooses to leave the Irish houseguest at the hospitality of his daughter.

He will be gone for five days, and Iris’s head is swirling with possibilities.

They decide on taking her old purple Ford convertible down to the Cape, leaving her little brother in the trusted care of her bodyguard Mary Morstan and Jim’s very own Sebastian Moran. 

They leave for Dennis, Cape Cod just after Iris kisses her dad goodbye before his jet sets off into the night. Jim is absolutely ecstatic and Iris is a horrible and inexperienced driver. Because of this, the Irishman feels more than a little concern for his life at her recklessness, but this only excites him.

After evading not one, but three cop cars, they pull into a tiny gas station just off the main road. It is about four o’clock and the dust is beginning to set in. Iris pulls out of her beloved vehicle and begins to pump the gas while Jim checks his phone in the passenger’s seat, occasionally making threatening phone calls that just turns his driver on. Iris very stupidly has continued to puff on her cigarette. She is just about finished when a few twenty-something frat brothers come up to her car after staring at it for a while. They whistle at the muscle car, and she smiles in gratitude. Jim’s head snaps up, and his body tightens when he takes notice of her company.

“Goddamn, she is a beauty. What year?” One calls to her. “‘65,” She calls back with obvious pride in her sixteenth birthday present. “C’mon girl, how bout you let me take it for a spin,” A boy slithers his way into her personal space, presenting what he must think is a sexy smile. At this point, Jim has his fists balled with fury but doesn’t dare move. Because unlike these idiots, he knows what she is capable of. She sends the boy a venomous smile and beckons him closer. He obeys, transfixed in her eyes. As soon as he does, she takes her cigarette in one hand while straddling her hand behind his neck, and presses the still lit cigarette in between his eyes, digging it into his skin with her thumb. With this, he begins to howl in pain while her eyes stuck on his pained expression, with an unnerving smile playing on her lips. 

Jim is transfixed for only a moment in the terrible beauty she is while torturing, until the movement of the boy’s friends running to his rescue jolts him out of his state. He quickly but calmly climbs out of the passenger seat, “Oh hello boys, I see you’ve come to a conclusion as to the sanity of my lovely lady,” he drawls, delighting in the sight of their shocked expression before gripping the neck of the man closest to Iris and strangling him, causing him to make unnatural gurgling sounds. His grip only tightens as Iris is now bored with her plaything, turning to the next of his little friends and punching him square in the jaw. She then takes the pump out of her car and climbs in, laughing villainously. Jim takes her lead, joins her laughter and they speed off into the night, relishing in each other's dark tendencies.

They make their final stop of the night and check into a sketchy-looking motel just off the radar. Iris leads Jim into the room, dropping her luggage in the doorway and peeling off her shoes. She jumps onto the single bed with childish glee at the adventures of the day. Jim, in turn, takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jacket and begins to undo his tie: doing so while never leaving her eyes. She chuckles at his eagerness and is surprised at her own. God, this man was sexy. He could take her craziness, too. Now she was going to take his virginity.

She watched as he made his way over to her, and bored his eyes into her own. How hungry they were for her, she thought. She took him by his tie, and he crawled his way on top of her. By now, the room temperature had risen by at least eighty degrees, and the world slowly came to a standstill as the space between them closed in. “You were brilliant today,” He said, eyes darting from her lips to her equally hungry eyes for him. “I know.” She answers nonchalantly before kissing him in a lust driven stride of passion. Before long he had desperately ripped her tank above her arms, revealing her bare breasts beneath. Not one to be overpowered, she in turn had ripped off his button-up before getting out, “You’re far too dressed up for this occasion Mr. Moriarty,” ‘No such thing.” He answers with a wolfish grin, as he falls onto her chest, with bated breath. Trailing the curve of her with his single finger, she shivered in anticipation. There was a light inside his eyes now, brightened by lust and insanity. Hers shared the same gleam. He took her breast in his mouth, circling around her nipple until sucking upon it. She groaned with pleasure before dipping down further on the bed to reach his pants. He continued to suck her, making his way onto her neck while she worked with his trousers. She gave a gasp that preluded to an innocence which they both knew wasn’t there. He chuckled at this, taking in the pearly glow of her pale skin. She took in the muskiness of her partner, the scent of expensive cologne doubled with a kind of animal magnetism she responded to quite well. By this time he was circling his hips against her in such a motion that caused her to groan with anticipation. She vainly tried to take off her shorts, but he made it there before she could. As if on cue, he dropped her shorts to the bottom of the bed in just one forceful motion. Now he took her in, excitement growing in his chest while he finished the job of taking off his pants. She helped him with his underwear, teasing him by stroking his erect cock, making him let out a string of obscenities while throwing his head back. He returned the favor, going down on her hard, meeting her panties and tearing them off with his mouth with harsh vigor. She squealed in annoyance while he pinned her against the headboard with such force that spread wetness throughout her. “Fuck,” She barely whispered before he smirked into her neck, where he was leaving a rather large bite, “That’s what I’m trying to do, doll,” “Then get the fuck on with it Jim.” She pleaded, her tone desperate and demanding. Taken aback, he watched her with dancing eyes. This woman got more interesting every minute. He began to tease her, moving his mouth between her thighs. His tongue stroked her insides and her hips began to grind in anticipation. The sounds she didn’t know she could make passed through her lips in desperation as she basically began riding his face, before he retracted his tongue just as he was about to reach her clit, baiting her. Iris wasn’t having any of that. Now that she had seen his body and knew the things it was capable of doing, she wasn’t exactly going to play games. While he taunted her by fingering her insides, she moaned giving him more excitement. Taking his inexperience as an advantage, she flopped him over aggressively and straddled him. His pupils dilated and his breathing got heavier. She worked his way up, teasing him by licking him and sizing him up before she gently lowered down onto his erection, causing him to arch into her. He began to growl from a place deep inside him, something that sounded more like a howl. He took her torso in his hard grip and she rode him into the intercourse before he flipped her over, causing her to cry out with excitement. Jim pinned her down, kissing her passionately while getting increasingly faster and deeper with his thrusts. He moaned her name into her mouth, as she cut into his back with her sharp nails, leaving marks that would last for weeks. They came at the same time, Iris screaming his name and Jim grunting in response. He collapsed on top of her, and they showered each other with small, gentle kisses. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, every curve of hers melted seamlessly into his, and they stayed there for a while, panting.  
“That was.. That was..” Jim started.  
“Brilliant.” Iris ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh geez. this is my first time writing smut, lmk if it sucks.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a glorious five days, where the pair took in loads of fun, including, but not limited to; skinny dipping, arson, sailing, and other things her father would not approve of.

“So, should you tell your Dad or should I?” Iris’s confidant and bodyguard Rose asked her.

“You’re kidding right? He’d turn Jim into a leather jacket.”

Rosamund was a former C.I.A. agent gone rogue, and Pat had took notice of her expertise and recruited her to guard his most prized possession. She was only a couple years older than Iris, and the two quickly became best friends. It had been hard for Iris to get close to other girls in her past, she was always a bit odd in her fanatics for horror and found it hard to lie to friends.

“Now, you know how much of a romantic I am, but that aside, if he finds out I’ll be dead and Jim will be too you moron. So what are you going to do?” Rose tried to reason with her friend.

They were in Iris’s room, trying to decide on an outfit for the mayor’s ball that just happened to be Jim’s last night as well. The thought of his leaving filled Iris’s heart with dread but he had promised to visit.

She simply sighed at the predicament she had put herself in, “I have no idea.” 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James Moriarty made his way into the magnificent ballroom, as he stepped in, he fixes his suit ever so cooly. He is wearing his finest Westwood, with his hair slicked back. He is, after all, Mr. Sex. That’s what Iris began to call him during their little holiday, given his increasing appetite for it. 

He had learnt a lot from this trip, from establishing contacts across the Atlantic and learning from the best in the biz, Pat O’Malley himself.

Speaking of the devil, Pat comes up behind the prodigious nineteen year old and directs him to the row of photographers taking pictures for local newspapers. “We’re gonna miss you around here, Jimmy Boy,” He flatters him, but before Jim can respond he adds, “Especially Iris.”

He is completely frozen as he stares into a flash, smile poised as they lead away into the party.

Pat chuckles at the effect the words have on the budding napoleon of crime, and chimes in before Jim can play the innocence, “Do you think I’m stupid? I see how happy you make her. And it was good of you to get her out of that tower she’s been hiding in,” They make the to the bar and order their fancy. The combined authoritarian look the pair have intimidates the bartender to even inquiring about Jim’s age. 

By this time Jim is worried but curious as to what his idol will say next as the lean against the bar, taking in the glamorous scene. Pat glances at the boy before finishing his thought, “Anyway, you two make quite a match. I’m glad she found a man worthy of her.” And with this, he raises his glass of bourbon to Jim, smirking at the astonishment on his face. “Sir, I can’t even begin to..” And what he couldn’t begin to he never got out, as at that very moment she walked in, Rosamond trailing her discreetly as always. 

Pat follows his eyes and chuckles at the young romance, before leaning into Jim to whisper, “If you break her heart, I will have your head. And I really don’t wanna do that to her, okay?” Before James Moriarty could even process what had happened in that short exchange, Pat had disappeared and Iris had caught his eye and began to beam. 

She all but ran over to him, taking graceful strides in a liquid satin gown. Black, of course. When she reached him she flashed him that beautiful smile that always brought him such agony and ecstasy. “Darling, you look ravishing.” He flatters her, taking her hand in his to kiss. 

“You clean up nice yourself, Jim.” Iris coos as she takes in his impeccably tailored suit and expensive watch, noticing the stares he solicited from the women around them. She sends one particular pack of housewives a murderous glare as she places her red lips on his, marking him as hers for all to see. 

Suddenly self-conscious, the way she only gets with Jim, she looks down at her exquisite dress with a small frown. “Does my dress look okay? It’s vintage 1930s, you know, so I would be sure not to have the same dress as another girl.”

He cannot believe his ears. Who stood before him was the most stunning, cunning and merciless woman he had ever met and here she was wondering if she was good enough for him. “Babe, you couldn’t be more beautiful.” He says as he takes her in an embrace, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. The more he had come to known Iris O’Malley, the more infatuated he got. She had told him of her love of art, and her plans of studying art history in college. She had told him all her plans for when she would take over daddy’s business, and he had, in turn, told her his dreams of his expanding empire. He had never been closer to a human being before, and she was astonishing. 

Grateful for his comfort, she pulled into him, inhaling as much of his scent as she could. God, she would miss him. She had never felt more alive than she had in the last weeks. They had both sparked a fire within one another that couldn’t be blown out by the most chaotic of winds.

Jim tapped her lightly on the back and she turned in the direction which he pointed. There was her very own Rosie at the bar with no other than Jim’s Sebastian, totally hitting it off. She let out a laugh in surprise. She turned back to Jim, “Did you know about this?” “No idea,” He muffled, as confused as she was. 

Staring at his adorable expression, Iris felt again the loss that his leaving would bring. She couldn’t imagine a reality without him now. He met her eyes and they read them quite well. He himself had been tortured by the idea of not seeing her, this woman he came to cherish. She took a shaky breath before, “Jim, listen. I want you to know something before you leave. This isn’t easy for me, and it’s totally okay if you need some time after hearing this, but I just have to get it off my chest. I.. I love you, Jim. And I know that sounds crazy after knowing you for just a month, but I feel it deep in my bones. I feel different with you. You make me feel alive, you make me feel accepted. God, that was lame. Let me start over..” He breaks her off with an impatient kiss that makes her heart pound.

“Iris O’Malley,” he begins as he pulls up for air and takes her hands in his, “You are the most incredible woman I have met or ever will meet. No one has ever gotten to me. Not like you have. And the thing is, I love you too.” He gulped, anticipating that those three words would taste foreign in his mouth. They didn’t. They sounded like the most natural thing he had ever uttered. Continuing with a smirk, “Baby, me and you, we could rule the world.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Iris purred back, feeling a lot more confident as she snaked her arms around his neck.

“But we got plans, big plans. Both of us are just getting started. I can’t tear you away from what’s here and I don’t want to be torn from what I’ve built.” he smiles, in a sad fashion. They’re swaying in tune now to a slow dance, yet everything seems so far away. “Hon, if I got faith in anything it’s that -you and me- we’re meant to be. Just not right now, okay? And I don’t wanna hold you down. I’ll be watching you grow into yourself, taking your father’s place and then I’ll be back. We will be together.” he says forcefully, as she sees almost a desperation in his eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I already got his blessing.” he finishes with a certain smugness that is so him. 

He watches her with sad eyes, praying to a God he doesn’t believe in that she says something, anything. She finally meets his eyes with hers, and they are pooling with tears. Now, Iris is not a crier, thank you very much. She last cried at her brother’s funeral, not even her mother’s admittance to the state hospital. What was with this man and what he did to her? She couldn’t get over it. He was immobilized yet again by her unpredictability. He wasn’t used to girls crying. At least not ones he cared about. 

She became frozen as well, acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation before she reached up to dry her tears, surprised to find Jim’s tender touch already there. Her gray eyes bored into his black ones, as they both calculated the cost of their love.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been roughly about five years since they last saw each other, yet they were reminded of each other practically daily.

Iris had taken the position of underboss in her father’s crime ring, and was loving it. She had since taken four lives, each with more eagerness than the last. But she knew how to rope herself in. That’s what terrified those around her, her capability to control her rage. She was likened to a loaded gun on several occasions.

From the time Jim had left, she and her father had grown their business beyond state walls, succeeding in controlling New York’s Italian crime ring, they now had their eyes set on Chicago. But tensions were high in the business, and Pat became increasingly paranoid for his life. This exaggerated growth had to warrant some unwanted attention from the authorities, and he had angered many people recently. More specifically the Philly mobs. He knew it was only a matter of time. But he had faith in his only daughter, and he saw the very same bloodlust in her eyes that he had. The empire would be safe in her hands. 

Owen had become a priest and had taken to visiting his mother every other week and praying with her. Iris didn’t come, as she wasn’t so sure if it was healthy. But he was happy, so she was happy. Iris, Pat and all those who worked for the family were sure to listen to his sermons every Sunday, but Iris couldn’t bring herself to go to confession. She had tried to keep tabs on her love Jim Moriarty, just as he had promised to do for her, but he was elusive as ever. She tried to tell herself what a good thing that was, given their shared line of work.

She had tried her best to maintain a low profile, going to school she got her art history degree and started up a gallery. She maintained that mousy second persona, all with shapeless dresses complete in colorful palettes and pretentious boyfriends. The whole ordeal nearly bored her to death, but of course, it was necessary to keep up a second identity for deniability. Her real identity made up for it all by having excess cash that took the form of a massive apartment and a luxurious wardrobe of her signature black. But she couldn’t help but miss having her Irishman around and recalled how alive Jim had made her feel. 

The only snippet she had heard of him was the wildfire that was his trial for stealing the crown jewels. When the news reached her, she couldn’t believe what she was reading and was almost hysterical. She had the article laminated and framed in her apartment. She promised herself to visit London as soon as possible, work permitting.

Soon after, the news of Jim’s suicide was also met with the news of her father’s death.

Iris was broken. Her father had been her single constant in life besides the city, and was her rock, her role model, and her mentor. She couldn’t believe the reality she was in. Or the responsibilities she was left with. But by God, was she about to have her father’s murderer dead! The same bloodlust that had fueled her fury over her brother’s death all those years ago had returned with a thirst and she was sure to make the guilty suffer by her own hand.

At her father’s funeral, among the mountains of flowers, there was one that stood alone. It was a rather large bouquet of black and purple irises. She admired their beauty and the thoughtfulness of the gesture before reaching for the card. She turned it over and her knees just about buckled beneath her. It read ‘I’m so sorry. xxJim.’ 

Iris hardly had time to process what was the news of Jim’s suicide, thanks to all the drama that was ensuing around her while the empire was responding to having its first female boss. It had settled in the back of her mind, which refused to accept it. But now she knew her instincts were right and was shocked as to how he pulled it of. She knew he was clever, the cleverest and sexiest man she’d ever known, but how did do it? She booked a flight to London as soon as possible, feeding her confidants lies about needing a holiday. She should’ve worried about her fate in the empire and what her leaving would do to it, but she just didn’t care. She had to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filler chapter! just setting the scene for what's gonna happen next ;))  
> also, i might've gotten the math wrong for the years so I'm sorry if i did!  
> thank u so much for reading! it means so much to me :))


	7. Chapter 7

Jim had adjusted to life as a Consulting Criminal marvelously in the five years after his trip to Boston.

He had risen to become the most powerful man on the continent and had spun a web so wide it spanned oceans.

But it was lonely at the top.

(Iris had felt this too)

Don’t get him wrong, Jim kept himself entertained. It was just that when he was torturing someone or eating dinner alone at the most luxurious restaurant in London, he couldn’t help but think of Iris. And what it would be like to have her with him, ruling over their empires simultaneously. Redefining the term ‘power couple.’

He kept his promise of watching her developments, taking note of her accomplishments and current boyfriends. He had a file of her he would open when he was feeling lonely. He wanted to go back to her, but he just didn’t know how. Jim was filled with guilt over his actions and knew she would be less distracted without him, so he kept his distance.

He always went back to those days when he needed to calm himself down, the days they spent in that dingy motel or the way her skin glowed in the moonlight, and especially the way her eyes gleamed with passion when they would discuss murder. He missed her family, for they had welcomed him as he was, and he had felt truly at home in Boston. He had taken recently to remembering the last words she spoke to him, about him making her come alive. He had felt that too, and with every day without her, he felt himself more drained of life.

(She had felt the same.)

______________________________________________________________________________

On the first class flight from Logan to Heathrow, Iris had pulled anything and everything on Jim in the past years. Calling in favors and threatening a few of her colleagues, Iris had learned of Jim’s obsessions with a certain consulting detective by the name of Sherlock Holmes. By researching the man she loved’s favorite nemesis, she came across John Watson and his recent engagement to a Mary Morstan. Her eyes widen and she lets out a gasp as she accidentally pours the red wine she was sipping onto her lap. Oh yes, this trip was going to be very interesting.

When the plane lands, Iris O’Malley finds herself walking through the airport, impeccably dressed as usual in this attire, for her first visit to London. Glued to her phone while making hotel arrangements at the Bulgari, she makes her way through the terminal, Louis Vuitton bags in tow. Stopping at the large glass doors only to call a cab, her breath is caught in her chest.

Looking up, she spots a Bentley Continental GT Black Bison in white with red rims. It isn’t just the gorgeousness of the car in front of her, but what the sign its driver is holding. She lowers her sunglasses, as she reads her name on the sign.

She didn’t call a car just yet, especially not this one. Her mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ as she approaches the mysterious vehicle. “Excuse me, Miss, are you Iris O’Malley?” the driver asks as she comes closer. She wordlessly nods, taking in the elegance of her ride. “Right then,” he continues, taking her luggage and placing it in the trunk. She suddenly regains her composure.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t order a car, who..” She is rudely interrupted as suddenly a figure emerges from the back seat, dressed in the most expensive looking suit she’s ever seen. His eyes meet hers and that mischievous glimmer of his dark espresso bean eyes catches the surprise in hers. “JIM!” 

“Did you miss me?” He asks, a wide grin spreading across his face.

She practically suffocates him as she takes him in a tight embrace, he stumbles back against the car.

“Oof.” He manages with indignity, only to redeem himself with the snarky comment of, “Not the response I usually get.”

Now she pulls up from the hug, taking his head in her hands, simply taking in the man she lost so long ago. They stare into each other's eyes lovingly for only a moment before their lips meet in triple the passion their first kiss had. The need was greater than they ever felt, and the Earth seemed to stop spinning if only for a minute before the driver gave a little cough. The two most powerful individuals from each hemisphere broke away from each other and gave the poor man a combined look that could strike fear into the heart of the bravest soul alive.

With that, Jim awkwardly shifts back and into the red plush seat of the car, motioning Iris to follow his lead while the driver takes his place behind the wheel.

Iris reads off her hotel's address from her phone to the driver before glancing up at her travel companion who was taking her in with those ever hungry eyes. She giggles and without taking her eyes off Jim she says slowly in that seductive voice that excited him all those years ago, “Driver roll up the partition please.” He obliges, and suddenly Jim is on top of her, Iris kissing back with a hunger that makes them both groan. 

She tugs her manicured nails through his slicked back hair, taking in his familiar body. He moans into her touch, and his hands start making their way down her body. Feeling the same electricity that excited her all those years ago, she is pulled back to reality as to where she was and who she was with. With a sudden squeal, she breaks the kiss, and mumbles “now my lipstick’s smushed.” 

The consulting criminal leans up, fixing his suit while trying to control his breathing. “Yeah, well my hair took an hour today so thank you very much.” He counters, sending her the very same smirk that melted her when she was seventeen.

Coming to her senses, Iris scolds, “James Moriarty you’re supposed to be dead. By the way, why exactly did you fake your suicide in the first place? And you can NOT just send me flowers and pick me up in a fancy car like we’re going to the prom, it has been FIVE YEARS. Why haven’t I heard from you?” And with that last line, she feels her lip quiver with the same insecurity he always manages to give her. 

Jim sighs, hoping this talk would come after the great reunion sex. But, he remembers with a smile, she has never been one for predictability. God, he has missed her. 

“Listen pet, what happened on that rooftop is between me and a certain Sherlock Holmes, which I’m assuming you knew.” Her head ducks down at the accusation of her spy work, but doesn’t say anything.

Continuing with a smile, “And yeah, I was supposed to be ‘dead,’” he says with a roll of the eye and a dramatic exaggeration placed on the word ‘dead,’ before, “But who knew how boring that would be? Anyways, I didn’t expect you to come running after me after I sent you flowers.” And with that, the car turned icy. The loss of her father was still fresh in her mind, and it hurt to think about it.

He cringed at his own lack of tact before touching her gently on the shoulder and asking, “Hey, how are you by the way?”

Determined not to let him get off the hook, she simply dismissed the subject with a flick of her wrist and a pained smile that didn't fool either of them. “I’m fine! Dad lived a great life, and he left huge footsteps for me, and I can’t wait to follow them but unfortunately I had to investigate my ex’s fake death before I could start my own rein.” She ended, giving him a hard look.

Jim saw through her icy exterior as he always had, and saw the grief and fear behind her cold exterior. Briefly, he hesitates before wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders, he kissed her forehead.

Iris manages to hold in her tears, and lets out a small, “Thank you.” as she nuzzled into his chest. They lay there for a while, savoring in how natural the position felt.

The chauffeur then tapped on the partition, signaling their arrival. Unwillingly they adjusted themselves, ready to leave.

As she smoothed out her jacket and he his, Iris says with a smile playing on her lips, “I like your car. It’s very you.” 

An intentional caress to his ego, Jim chuckles and replies, “You should’ve seen your face!” He then mocks her shocked expression as she hits him playfully. 

With a resigned smile she says as she opens the door, “Well, this is me.” 

Jim stares up at her with pleading eyes before she sighs and offers, “Would you like to come up?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

The two spend the night and most of the morning enjoying each other’s company, and plotting for something very special.


	8. Chapter 8

Iris woke up that morning more alive than ever. Refreshed and rejuvenated from last night’s exercise (wink wink), she had awoken next to a sleepy Jim Moriarty.

She smiled as she grazed her hand over his cheek, his sleepy demeanor was one not many saw, and it was, simply put, the cutest.

She woke him up with a gentle kiss and he stirred, pulling her onto him. She giggled into the kiss, before muttering, “Wake up sleepyhead.”

She pulled out of his embrace teasingly and started unpacking her things to get ready for the day. Procuring her ‘civilian clothes,’ as she liked to put, were her flirty light blue wrap dress and camel colored trench along with the colorful accessories she needed to maintain her second persona. She had packed them in the precaution of going on a few activities Iris the Gallery Owner would enjoy, including several art museums and a Notting Hill cafe she secretly was looking forward to. After all, a disguise always manages to be a self-portrait, no matter how hard we try.

Iris and Jim had planned a little surprise for their former friend Mary Morstan in between rounds of ecstasy. Iris’s first friend had left her service when the girl had made her first kill and proved she could take care of herself. Mary was far too qualified for the job anyhow and had taken off as a rogue agent for a couple of years and the two hadn’t kept in touch despite early attempts, the risk was just too great. So when Jim had informed Iris all about Mary’s sudden redemption at the hands of John and Sherlock, Iris had felt betrayed. She and Jim had set out a plan to exact their revenge, but really they just wanted something to do.

She laid out her outfit for the day, and then slipped quietly into the black marble bathroom, as Jim had begun to fall back asleep. She took her time in the warm water of the shower, while mentally preparing herself for the excitement of the day to come. When she was finished, she stepped gingerly out of the shower and pulled her hair up in a towel, tied the fluffy robe around herself and made her way back into the bedroom. 

The scent of her flowery yet deadly perfume still lingered on the sheets had lead Jim to think she was still in bed, but as he turned he felt her absence and longed for her warmth. Last night was gratifying after such a long wait, and he had felt more alive than ever. There was something about her that just made him go mad.

He cocked his head up at the sound of the door being opened, to reveal the woman herself, smiling contently down at his sleepy self. 

Jim blinked open his eyes and met hers, and he declared in a sexy Irish drawl, “I like your hair like that.” The sleepiness of his voice made Iris melt, and she silently cursed him for making her feel this way. But not really, no. She loved the way he made her feel so alive, so vividly alive that it made her forget there was anybody in the world but them two.

She lowered her face to meet his and she kissed him slowly. They broke away and Jim asked what she wanted from room service. “This is my hotel room, you know, so don’t run up my bill when I’m gone today.” she teased, after instructing him to order her an espresso and a chocolate croissant. 

With that, she began to get dressed in the ‘civilian clothes’ as Jim started to come alive.

“What time is it?”

“Ummm, seven.” Iris answered, taking out her phone to check.

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath as he jumped out of the bed, still naked. “I have a meeting in an hour across town.”

She watched as he got dressed swiftly in his suit from last night, and admired the precautions he had made in folding his suit neatly so it was wrinkleless. 

As room service came and they each ate hurriedly and proceeded to brush their teeth and groom themselves at the separate sinks. Iris stole glances at Jim as he tried his best to comb back his hair and make himself look threatening. She liked this, being with him. It all seemed ordinary, but not in a boring way as she had thought it would. It just felt right. Little did she know Jim was peeking at her as well, watching her apply a rosy color to her cheeks and lips before brushing her now shortened hair. It suited her, he thought. She suited him, in all honesty. Something about this just felt right to Jim, and he couldn’t quite place it as they teased and helped each other get ready.

They both left the hotel together, Jim taking his Bentley and Iris hailing a cab to pick up a couple things before visiting 221B Baker Street, where Mary would be later. They pecked each other affectionately before running off in separate directions, acting very oddly like a normal couple. Both couldn’t stop smiling as they made their way to work.

______________________________________________________________________________

Iris O’Malley steps out of the black taxi cab and onto the sidewalk of Baker Street. Looking up, she sees a flurry of movement inside the window of 221B. Smirking, she makes her way to the black imposing door and slips inside.

She is in full civilian costume, carrying a tote full of bachelorette items for the bride to be, she plans to disguise as Mary’s friend from work. Inside is a rose champagne, penis shaped gummies, and a change of clothes for later on. 

Hearing shouts and violent thumps from upstairs, Iris makes her way quietly up the stairs. Inside John, Mary and Sherlock are going over what sounds like wedding details, before Mary convinces the two to go out on a case. 

Iris positions herself casually at the door and knocks amidst all the inside chaos. Mary opens the door, a strained smile on her lips before she takes in the face in front of her. Iris genuinely smiles at this, delighting in her reaction. Mary’s face has gone completely devoid of emotion, shaping her mouth in a perfect ‘o.’ This is only for a second, as the master assassin remembers where she is and who she is supposed to be.

Iris takes the lead, taking Mary in a tight hug while squealing in joy. “Mary babe congratulations again! I’m just so excited, and wait til you see what I’ve brought!” she manages with a perfect cockney accent. Never missing a beat, Mary embraces her and invites her in, mumbling her thanks.

Just then a tall figure approaches the doorway, pausing to take in the stranger. A short blond man follows and looks only a little off put by his friend. Knowing John is not one to remember his fiance’s friends, and taking into account the societal mannerism that applies to people who think they know you but you can’t remember, Iris jumps at the chance she and Jim had predicted would appear.

“John, how are you?” She says with such a familiarity and sweetness, John barely looks confused as she takes him in a quick hug before returning to the towering man in front of him. “Oh, so is this the famous Sherlock then? What an honor it is to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes.” She says with a winning smile, looking him straight in the eye.

He sweeps over her with an analyzing eye, before giving a curt nod and making the way out the door. 

“Aw, now hold on, aren’t you gonna deduce me?” Iris pouts playfully, eager to test his abilities.

Turning his head to her with a slight suspicion, she feels those cold calculating eyes take her in once more. Clearly thrilled by the attention, he begins to ramble off, making both John and Mary sign in unison. “Alright then, 23 years old, 5’4, had a recent death in the family, most likely someone you were close with given the bags under your eyes and your overly cheerful nature. Had sex last night numerous times, with someone you hadn’t seen in awhile I assume from your weak knees and hoarse voice along with the multiple bite marks you tried to conceal.” Now she had a blush rising in her cheeks, yet her eyes widened at his depth of perception.

“Brother’s a priest, but you don’t like God much. You’re going clubbing tonight with Mary, where you hope to pick up some man, preferably the ex from last night. You have a weakness for chocolate and death doesn’t scare you. You’ve just come in from a flight last night probably from somewhere in North America, the eastern shore. You’re an art lover given by the state of your cuticles and your strained renias mean you also read too much in the dark when you were younger, yet you sparsely cry. You also might be addicted to sex, but other than that you’re boring and that was a waste of my time. If you’ll excuse me there’s a soldier who’s just been murdered.” He ended with a sarcastic smile and a flourish of his rather obnoxious coat. Iris scoffed at his retreating back as John gave her a weak smile and a quick “So sorry” and proceeded to scold Sherlock. 

As the door shut, she broke out into uncontrollable laughter at the scene that just unfolded around her. “Oh my god is he always like that?” she gasped in between laughs, “Did you hear that part about the sex addiction? ” she finished, slipping back into her Boston accent before turning to Mary, who wore a cold expression with laughless eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She asked in a voice so sharp it could break glass. 

Iris rolled her eyes at the predictable response and made her way around the flat leisurely. “Mary. Mary, Mary, Mary.” She repeated with increased disgust before dropping into the leather chair across the room. “Why Mary? That’s so common, so domestic. That’s not you, Rosie.” She watched with pleasure as the light drained out of her former best friend’s eyes. 

Retaliating back with all the venom she could muster without alarming Mrs. Hudson downstairs, “WHY. ARE. YOU. HERE?” 

Iris formed a mock insulted face at her before responding with the coyness of a cat, “I was quite hurt not to receive an invitation for my best friend’s wedding.”

Realizing this was not going to be easy, nothing to do with Iris O’Malley ever was, Mary took a seat in John’s chair across from her. The two looked each other dead in the eye, Iris with deadly curiosity and Mary with guarded fury. 

Letting out a long sigh, Iris broke the silence. “I really did miss you, you know,” she muttered, not meeting Mary’s eye.

She felt some of Mary’s icy exterior begin to thaw as she went on, “Owen got ordained by the way. He sends his love.” With this, she saw a glimmer of remorse in Mary’s eyes before it was lost.

“Why did you stop Rose?” she inquired at last with the question that had been nagging at her since she found out about Mary Morstan, this time with no alternative motive behind it. “How could you do that? You loved your job, and you were so good at it. Why stop?”

This time Mary couldn’t meet her eyes for a while as she sat, considering her answer before lifting her head with tears pooling in her eyes she replies, “I had to, Iris. The guilt just kept racking up, and the more I killed the heavier the weight on my shoulders became. I just couldn’t live with myself if I continued.” 

To this, Iris had no reply. She still had a sliver of guilt inside her at what she had done and at what she would become. She felt it in waves every time she looked at her brother, and every time she had to threaten a family. But she had just learned to ignore it. After all, that was how she was raised. She was always told it was for the good of the family, and it was, she knew that. Besides, it was only business. She just had to remind herself sometimes.

Not meeting Mary’s eye, she asked one simple question. “Are you happy?”

Wiping her tears away, Mary regained her composure. “Yes. Are you going to take that away from me?”

At this, Iris’s head shot up with hurt in her eyes. “Of course I’m not.”

“Then why are you here?” Mary spat at her in her emotional state.

“You and Owen are all the family I have left,” Iris replied quietly, her head fixed on the floor. 

Mary looked at her, really looked at her this time. This was not the same silly, unstable girl she had known years ago. The girl who sat before her was battered from life, rattled with grief and exhausted as hell. It hit her then that Pat had been killed, and this meant she had become the boss. Mary always thought she could handle it, in fact, she knew she could, but she had forgotten that she was still human, still capable of feeling. The loss of Pat must have been killing her, even though she didn’t show it.

Mary stood up and walked to where Iris sat, bending down to look in her eyes, before saying “I am so sorry.” With that, she took a shaking Iris into her eyes as she began to sob for the first time since her father’s death. They sat there for a while until a sniffling Iris pushed her away with a grateful smile. “I’m fine, I’m totally fine. I’ve wanted to be the boss forever and now I am!”

Her smile faltered as she recalled the scene she had fled from back home. She suddenly wasn’t so sure if she would return a boss.

“What is it?” Mary had always been able to read her like a book.

“Nothing. It’s just that the company isn’t responding to my promotion as well as I had hoped.” She said with a weak smile, enjoying the company of a friend she could talk to about her real work problems. “They seem to think that a female touch will ruin our reputation.”

“Well, they obviously haven’t met you then,” Mary said, unconvinced, taking a swig from the bottle of rose they had cracked open. “Don’t they realize you’re the most qualified to take this job?”

“I know, right? Jim said the same thing.” Iris said indignantly.

Mary all but just sprayed her with rose before she started coughing. “Jim. Jim Moriarty, the guy who's virginity you took? The Jim who killed himself on the rooftop of St. Barts two years ago?” she managed between hacking fits.

“Ohhhh I forgot about that. Well, he is still very much alive.” 

Mary stared at her, dumbfounded. “How.. Why.. What the fu-?”

Iris cut her off before she went into shock, “Look I don’t know, he wanted Sherlock off his back I guess. We’re not completely caught up yet, I only saw him for the first time in five years last night.

“YOU CANNOT TELL ANYBODY, OKAY?”  
She added quickly, noting the growing panic visible on her friend’s face.

“Listen, he’s not gonna do anything to Sherlock, I don’t think, so don’t call the cops. I forgot you’re a civilian now.” She paused, giving her a pained look, which Mary responded with a hurt expression.

“And if you say anything, I’ll have to spill your secrets, so do me a favor and just be cool. Ugh, this is so high school.” she finishes, rolling her eyes and taking a handful of penis gummies.

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

They drunkenly pinky swear before laughing like hyenas, prompting Mrs. Hudson’s arrival.

“Mary dear, what’s with all the ruckus up here? This isn’t like you at all!” she tut-tuts good-naturedly, as she fusses around the flat. 

“It’s my hen night, Mrs. Hudson! Care to join us?” Mary slurs as Iris giggles gleefully.

“Is it really? Well, it’s not a very good one. Why aren’t you girls out dancing?” 

“You’re so right. Mary, let’s go clubbing! You’re more than welcome to join us, Mrs..?” Iris hiccups as she raises a hand to shake the landlady’s hand.

“Hudson, dear. Now, are you one of Mary’s friends? It’s so lovely to meet you, you know she never brings friends round here. Especially not ones from the states!”

“Why would I bring my friends to my fiancee’s best friend’s flat?” Mary grumbles into a pillow she’s buried her face in.

“My name is Iris, ma’am and I invited myself here.” Iris declares.

“Oh well it is nice to have female company you know girls, but you better get a move on before you’re too drunk to dance!” Mrs. Hudson says, visibly annoyed at their unladylike behavior.

“Quite right governor,” Iris manages in the best English accent her drunk self can muster, as Mrs. Hudson scoffs and lets herself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, i had so much fun with this.  
> i hope i kept everyone in character, it was super stressful.  
> btw, this is the scene in the SoT where Mary convinces the boys to go out n a case.  
> I LOVE THE FLUFF AT THE BEGINNING AHH i keep re-reading it my heart is so happy i love these two!!!  
> this is about as far as I've gotten, pls let me know if there are any inconsistencies or just any feedback would be EXTREMELY appreciated, i've only had my friend look at this so far and i would love to improve as much as possible.  
> thanks so much!! u guys rock((:


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